LIODES.

There were no more words from the other nymph. She disappeared, back into the foliage she had sprung from. The roots followed soon after but even the few seconds before that were agony. When they gone, Liodes braced themself on their palms, their expression pinching together as they took deep breaths. They felt weird, like something was upset deep in the pit of their stomach. Their ears rang. The grit beneath their palms chafed. “We should get out of here,” they breathed, still looking at the ground, trying to collect themself.

Liodes’ met the angry eyes of the nymph. They were suddenly quite keen on getting out of there. They would not begrudge Lydia for her frustration but, one nymph to another, they knew better to stick around. They tried to follow behind the redhead but their feet wouldn’t move. Brow furrowing, they looked at their feet, seeing the roots shooting out of the ground, wrapping around their shoes. “Power? Like a little girl and a fish out of water knows anything about that. You insult me and you--” she looks pointedly at Liodes “--insult me by even bringing her here.” The tree roots continue to tangle them up, creeping beneath the hem of their jeans, wrapping around his legs. “Pathetic to see a nymph trailing after a human. You might as well be human yourself.” Her last words weren’t said in English. It was language and it was not. But Liodes heard it, had heard the sentiment before. But it was not her words stung. It was the roots on his skin. A cry fell from their lips as they fell to their knees. Pain. They would remark on the rarity of the feeling if it weren’t so all-consuming.

“I’ve known--” they frowned, pausing for a moment as they try to count, giving up quickly “--many languages. I’ve seen them evolve, I’ve seen them be ‘born.’” Born, like a language popped into existence. But at some point, languages did evolve beyond what they came from and they’d seen that. “I’ve struggled with every one of them. Some concepts beyond words or those words are lost to time.”

The nymph’s eyes shifted to Lydia, regarding her with mild interest as she spoke. Her lips twitched at the end. Pleasure and amusement shown in her expression. “You speak as if it’s something that can be done,” she replied to the banshee. “Do you know what it would cost to even try? Do you offer something more than hollow praise? Or have you just come to request a miracle as a favor?” There was a venom to her voice that nearly made Liodes flinched. They still weren’t sure how to respond. This was Lydia’s conversation. 

He nodded. “I’m not even sure there’s words to describe. If there are, I don’t know them.” His English had improved leaps and bounds since he first arrived here though his accent was still just as thick. “Do you ever experience that? Not knowing the words to describe yourself?”

“After a while,” he says with a nod. “Sometimes there’s not an option to remain.” Constantinople came to mind. After it’s fall to the Turks, there had been no reason for him to remain. “It’s not easy.” Understatement. “It takes time even to accept that you need to go, to change.”

Liodes’ eyes flicked between the nymph and Lydia. They thought Lydia was doing well, polite if strong, but nymphs were catty and self-righteous. They weren’t immune to those impulses either -- it was hard to resist when you were arguably better than mortals. The nymph seemed unimpressed with the banshee. “I know what it does,” she hissed. “I don’t know why I should care.” Her reaction didn’t surprise them. They hoped for a nymph that would at least be amused but some were hostile. And that was back home, where nymphs had once been revered as Gods. They could only make guesses about American nymphs. “The people would thank you,” they interjected before Lydia could respond. The glare they received in turn from the nymph caused them to look back at Lydia. This was her conversation to have, her plea to make. She didn’t want to hear their thoughts.

Liodes was a sea nymph and yet they had no idea what she was going on about regarding starfish. They could picture them, yes, but they didn’t know anything about regrowing limbs. He shrugged. “In a way. I don’t really get hurt,” they answered. There wasn’t an explanation -- you could punch them and they wouldn’t bruise, you could cut them and their skin wouldn’t break. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

They nodded. It took them a moment to puzzle through the metaphor, and they still didn’t quite understand it, but something resonated. They had never fit this world and yet that had never more apparent then when faced with the modern world -- with cars that made them sick and social norms they failed to grasp. “Maybe it has changed. The world likes to do that. But it’s not impossible to change yourself as well. Or to find a new place to belong.”

“Science and supernatural have come a long way,” they replied. “Commonly accepted scientific fact of today got some people executed in the past. Interesting to think about.” Not that he usually did. Liodes was often questioning what they saw around them and not what they had experienced many years ago. Or they were baffled as they watched daytime soap operas where they lived. “A hybrid wolf but... Not a werewolf?” the nymph asks, tilting their head to the side in confusion. 

Liodes lips twitched. “If you think these are the most invasive questions I’ve been asked, you are sorely mistaken.” Those were stories he was keeping his lips shut on though. “But you can try. I find this fun.”

This isn’t something they’ve done before. When they’ve spoken to other nymphs, it was usually they, rather than Liodes, who started the conversation. They were questioned about why they were there, why they bothered with humans. They’d never sought one out specifically, especially not at the request of a human, and certainly not in America. But as they led Lydia further into the forest, the whisper grew louder. They began to feel something, the slight tickle that accompanied magic like theirs. Oh, that was something they hadn’t felt in a while. When they reached the point where that feeling, and that voice, were the strongest it had been, they spoke -- they didn’t speak in English nor in Greek. It didn’t really sound like words, not in a human sense at least. The forest was unnervingly quiet for a second until a face formed in one of the trees, pushing forward and becoming a person-shaped creature. The nymph looked like a woman with flecks of bark attached to her skin and long, thin hair falling past her waste. She stared suspiciously at Liodes before her eyes flicked to Lydia. “What do you want?”

They blinked at her, and without much thought -- not that they were a heavy-thinker to begin with, asked, “Is there anything I can do to help? With the... adapting?” It was a sincere question though it was almost humorous in a way. There was probably little he could do to help yet the offer was there.

Liodes shrugged. “I think that’s understandable for you. You understand hope, you’ve lived with all your life. To me, it’s a foreign concept. I live without it because I also live without it’s opposite.” He nodded. “There’s a lot worse things to hold on to. I think you’re okay in those regards.”

“I’ve certainly liked people more than most other things. I’m quite fond of the food they make though -- that might be the absolute best.” But still, a human creation. Far from meaningfully better. He hummed, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. No? They’re not things that come naturally to me.” They weren’t mortal. Most nymphs didn’t even take form like they did -- they were spirits, personifications of nature. Liodes was curious above all, a trait uncommon in their kind. But hopeful? Dreamy? Not really, not naturally at least. “Hope is a mortal thing. I am not.”

He thought for a second, a pensive look dominating his expression. “Both, I think. Change is... Confusing. It can hurt. It burned me out at one point. But it seems to have been for the best. I’m just slow to adapt.” That last thought was truer than anything. He was neither human nor young -- adapting wasn’t one of his strong suits. But he tried and, he thought, that was what mattered. “I think change is better than remaining static. I think the world would be a much worse place if nothing had changed in a thousand years.” Even though he liked those times, he could admit now was better for humans at least.

“I found most philosophers rather... Frustrating?” He wasn’t sure of the word, it didn’t seem right but another one wasn’t coming to mind. “Why go on about the meaning of life when you could live? That was what was interesting to me. People. Their lives. Their hopes, dreams, fears, and actions. Those things weren’t familiar to me.”